In winters like this—where the wind was a silent enemy that blistered everything it touched—his tribe would hunker in the belly of the White Mountain. Families drawn close and circling small fires never expecting to lose each other.
At least that’s how he felt before the exile.
This dangerous train of thought faded as his silent enemy shook his makeshift home made from branches and thickets. His body, numbed from the cold, protected a waning fire.
Written for Rochelle Wisoff’s Friday Fictioneers 4 May 2018, Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple (a belated entry)
I stepped into a sterile glass box that whirled as it carried me into the computerized brain of the Ancient One. Red lights ran the length of my body, gathering data for the algorithm that would determine my life’s purpose or, as the Ancient called it, Life Assignment.
A disembodied voice told me this was the day I’d truly begin living my life, but what the machine considered living…wasn’t living at all.
Written for: Sonya’s Three Line Tales, Week 106, Only 100 Words
Continue reading “Life Assignment”
She lay rain-soaked on the cold pavement. Her eyes fixated on the gray clouds overhead as a paramedic pumped stale air into her lungs. She inhaled, but her lungs refused to contract.
I’m going to die, she thought. Yet, her body continued its futile fight for survival.
Then the blaring sirens, roaring rain, screaming paramedic, and her laboring breaths dimmed as if someone had turned the volume down on her life.
It was just her and the paramedic in the rain, but she could feel another presence. A safe presence.
Something warm caressed her cheek. “Rest, child,” a voice whispered. “Rest.”
Written For: Bikurgurl’s 100 Word Wednesday (week 56) Continue reading “Rest”